


A Game

by writetheniteaway



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Plug, BDSM, Bondage, DDLG, Daddy Kink, Denial, Dom/sub, F/M, Humiliation, Loss of Control, M/M, NSFW, Nipple Clamps, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Porn, Power Exchange, Praise Kink, Punishment, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sub!Clarke, Subspace, blindfold, dom!bellamy, if you don't like watersports large portions of this fic are not for you, switch!Clarke, switch!murphy, water sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27166456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writetheniteaway/pseuds/writetheniteaway
Summary: Clarke has an amazing job, and amazing boyfriends who love her dearly. So when her amazing job is pushing her to her limit, her amazing boyfriends step in to help her with some stress relief. For Clarke, that means total submission to her Daddy Bellamy, and their boyfriend Murphy, and one very long afternoon of being pushed to her limit, exactly where she needs to be for it all to go quiet for awhile.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin/John Murphy, Bellamy Blake/John Murphy, Clarke Griffin/John Murphy
Comments: 12
Kudos: 74





	A Game

**Author's Note:**

> This is easily the filthiest thing I've ever written, and as such is not for everyone! No hard feelings if you close out, but please be kind.

Clarke’s bad habit of working too hard is a fact of life. She’s a high-profile graphic designer, and a damn good one, and her long hours and thriving freelance business are the majority of the reason she, Bellamy, and Murphy were able to move into this swanky high rise when they finally bit the bullet and moved in together.

Bellamy works nearly as many hours, but under tremendously less pressure as a professor, and Murphy picks up the odd job here and there, and though it has never really been a “conversation,” he’s more than happy to be the domestic anchor of their little triad.

It makes Bellamy smile, to come home to something that smells warm and hearty on the stove, that Murphy has a cold beer waiting in the fridge for him, and rosé on ice waiting for Clarke. He kisses Murphy’s cheek quickly, cradling his face and letting his hand linger affectionately for a long moment. “Smells great,” Murphy preens under the praise.

That had been another thing that sort of fell into place, though with admittedly extensively more conversation. For all his quiet strength and warm heart, Bellamy is undeniably dominant, and while Murphy never quite adopted Clarke’s endearing habit of calling him Daddy, they both float beneath him, switching as suits their moods, more often than not Murphy deciding himself to the bottom of the _very_ comfortable pile.

“Clarke’s running late, again,” Bellamy says indifferently, taking a seat at one of the island bar stools.

“Course she is,” Murphy responds, tone laced with frustration.

“Something wrong?”

“It’s fine,” Murphy says, turning dismissively back to his pots.

“John,” Bellamy takes on an authoritative tone instinctively. Murphy has a bad habit of letting pain fester until it explodes, and Bellamy’s taken to coaxing him into talking it out before things get that far.

“She snapped at me,” Murphy says sheepishly, reaching into the fridge for a head of lettuce and a bottle of beer.

“When?”

“This morning, you were already out the door.”

“And you’re still upset?” It’s an inquiry, not an accusation. Murphy pops the bottle cap off with the opener mounted on the wall before sliding it towards Bellamy.

“I’m less upset and more worried,” He elaborates, working on chopping the salad. “She got mad because I asked her if she wanted breakfast before leaving. And she skipped dinner last night to finish the Eligius project and I’m not even sure she slept the night before that and now she’s pissed at me for being worried about her. And like, yeah I’m a little hurt that she freaked out on me for just trying to look out for, her but mostly she can’t keep up this pace, she’s gonna get herself sick or something.”

Before Bellamy can respond they hear the front door unlock and the unmistakable sound of Clarke kicking her heels off. She barrels into the kitchen in a flurry, planting a quick kiss on Bellamy’s cheek and another on Murphy’s shoulder before throwing a cabinet door open and reaching for a protein bar, no sign at all of settling in for a Friday night dinner for three.

Murphy meets Bellamy’s eyes with a _see what I mean_ look, then turns his attention strictly back to evenly slicing the cucumber.

“Where’s the fire, princess?” Bellamy asks her.

“I spent all week on Eligius and now I’m behind on everything else, and I have a proposal due next Friday for a new client so I need to get it done by Sunday night so I can sleep on it a couple days and fix anything I hate before I send it, and-“

“ _Clarke_.” Murphy would be shaking with anticipation of what was to come with that tone, but Clarke never quite lost her defiant bratty streak. She looks at Bellamy with a mix of confusion and disdain.

“I can’t play tonight, I have too much work-“

“First you’re going to listen to me, then I will let you get back to work.” Bellamy says, cutting her off with a look that dares her to try and cross him again. The air between them hangs heavy, Bellamy forcing Clarke to stand still and wait for his orders, Murphy keeping his head bowed neutrally while he continues working on finishing their meal. She hates to give in so quickly, but God the idea of submitting for a while and letting her mind go quiet is appealing.

“First, Murphy has spent time and energy putting together a delicious meal for us to eat as a family. You will not be scarfing down some cardboard in front of your tablet, you’re going to sit down and eat everything he puts in front of you. Do you understand?”

“Fine.”

“Come again?” He asks, and it finally clicks for Clarke that he isn’t kidding around.

“Yes, I understand Sir.” She says promptly.

“That’s what I thought you said,” He replies, continuing. “You will spend fifteen minutes at the table, away from your computer and without your phone while you eat. Just because you make your own hours, it doesn’t mean you are constantly on call.”

She bristles at that, but decides it would take more time to argue than to play along.

“Yes Daddy.”

“Thirdly,” Bellamy continues, taking a swig from his beer. “You owe John an apology. He was trying to look out for you, and you yelled at him instead of being grateful that he cares enough to worry about you.”

“I don’t need either of you worrying about me, I’m fine-“

“You yelled at me for offering to make you toast,” Murphy says flatly. “You’re not fine.”

Clarke’s eyes flash at him angrily, the fact that he’s party to this ambush not lost on her.

“Well?” Bellamy prompts her.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” Clarke says to Murphy. “But I know what I’m capable of. Yeah, it’s been a rough few weeks but I am _fine_.”

“I don’t know if you recall, Sir, but the last time I gave an apology that included the word _but_ I had to write ‘I will not bottle up my feelings until I am out of control’ a hundred times.” Murphy says dryly. 

“Oh I recall,” Bellamy says, his face is passive but his tone carries a smug weight. “Go get cleaned up. We’ll discuss this more over dinner.” Clarke narrows her eyes at him, ignoring the quickly growing part of her that just wants to obey.

“You know you need a break,” Bellamy says. “So stop wasting energy fighting whether you want this or not and just do as you're told.”

“Fifteen minutes for dinner and then you leave me alone to work.”

“Clarke you’re not exactly in a position to be negotiating here,” Murphy points out.

“Get cleaned up, we’ll talk while we eat.” Bellamy dismisses her, ignoring the infraction. Clarke heads towards their bedroom in a huff.

“See what I mean?” Murphy asks.

“Yeah. It’s bad.” Bellamy mutters, low so she won’t hear.

“Obviously distracting her isn’t working the way you hoped it would,” Murphy passes the finished salad to Bellamy and reaches into the cabinet for dinner plates.

“What’s your day look like tomorrow?” Bellamy pulls serving tongs from the island drawer.

“I was gonna run out for some groceries, other than that just be around here.”

“Alright, good, cause I thought of something.” 

“What sort of something?” Murphy asks, piling his concoction from the pan into a bowl.

“She’s gotta slow down or she‘ll run herself into the ground.”

“No arguments here, but what are we going to do, she won’t make time.”

“She’s closer to giving up than you think. By the end of dinner she’ll cave.”

“So say she does agree, then what do we do?”

“Tomorrow we play a game,”

“What game?”

“Break Clarke.”

*

Clarke knows she’s at a point where just about the only thing that will help her unwind would be a thorough fucking from her boys. So even if she pouts about it, it really wasn’t asking a lot to behave during dinner. She’s been a good girl and apologized to Murphy again, sincerely, which means Bellamy lets her get back to work. At nearly midnight though, he pops into her office and pulls her out from behind the desk she’s fallen asleep on.

“You have until 4pm tomorrow, and then your ours for the night.”

Clarke tries to protest, of course, but he cuts her off quickly.

“Princess you’re dead on your feet, and Murphy and I both know you need to unwind. Just let us help. Give up control, just for a few hours. You’ll feel better, you know you will.”

“I can’t, I’m too far behind-“

“Yeah, you can.” Murphy says from the doorway. “Stop arguing, come to bed, and let us make the world go quiet for awhile tomorrow, hm?”

“You’re not gonna stop till I agree, are you?” She says, voice weary with sleepiness.

“Nope. So just be good for us and say you will.” Bellamy guides her towards the door. “Come on, baby, come to bed. Work tomorrow. Then play.”

“Bellamy’s got a fun game planned,” Murphy chimes in, reaching for her hand. “But it’s only fun if you play too.”

“If I say yes can we go to bed?” She says with a yawn.

“Thatta girl,” Bellamy says, sneaking a kiss onto her temple and tossing a knowing look towards Murphy. “Tomorrow.”

*

At exactly 3:45 Murphy knocks on her office door.

“Fifteen minutes Clarke.”

She waves him off with a dismissive _mhm_ , engrossed over her tablet. Murphy pinches his nose with a sigh. He doesn’t usually like to pull rank on her in a scene, preferring to keep them at least equals. Clarke relishes when she gets to help reduce him to a sputtering mess, but he never quite falls into it as easily. 

“Clarke,” He says more firmly, and his tone of voice pulls her from her work finally.

“Four o’clock. I know.”

“We said four o’clock, we meant four o’clock. Don’t give us a reason to be even harder on you than you already have coming.”

“Is that a threat, John?” She asks coyly.

“It’s a promise. Be a good girl and wrap up, for your own sake.”

“Thanks for the warning,” She says, rolling her eyes. “He’s gonna push that much then?”

“You’re ass is grass kid,” Murphy tells her with a smirk. “Now get moving.”

Clarke saves her progress twice, curious anticipation coiling in the pit of her stomach. Bellamy and Murphy would never actually hurt her, she knows that, but they’re devious, Bellamy especially, when he’s disappointed in one of them. She knew her boys took it personally when she worked too hard, not that they begrudged her her time or her independence, but she did have quite the habit for skipping meals, foregoing sleep, and running on fumes for weeks at a time. It wouldn’t be the first time she worked herself sick. Perhaps they had a point.

Their games help all of them, indulge Bellamy’s protective instinct, placate Murphy’s fears of inadequacy, give Clarke a way to quiet her mind. They would take good care of her. She was sure whatever was awaiting her would be difficult, leave her with sore muscles and bone weary, but the quiet, that blissful peace she can only find deep in subspace, that’s what she needs now. They know as much, and they’ll gladly oblige.

Clarke sends a quick thanks to the stars for letting her find a corner of the universe to share with them, before changing quickly into silky black boy shorts and a baby blue bralette. The lace that framed her breasts tantalizingly is for Murphy, the soft blue for Bellamy. She knows what her boys like.

At three fifty-nine she makes her way to the living room, Bellamy on the couch with a book in his hand, Murphy leaning casually against his side, scrolling down his phone. It was a scene of perfect domesticity on a Saturday afternoon, until Clarke notices that their coffee table had been pushed beneath the window, and there is a large work out mat covering the hardwood floor. A cooler she knows from past experience is filled with water, and the table has on it their entire (admittedly absurdly indulgent) toy collection. Clarke bites her lip with the smallest hint of trepidation; they clearly have a marathon planned, and she’s equal parts anxious and aroused.

“Right on time,” Murphy drawls, lifting himself away from Bellamy to pull her onto his lap. Clarke lands on Murphy with a squeak, nuzzling herself cozily into his embrace and draping her legs across Bellamy cheekily.

“You aren’t going easy on me, are you?” She says, voice already taking on a quieter, subdued tone.

“Don’t be nervous, baby,” Bellamy coos at her, closing his book and laying one hand possessively just below her knee. “We’re just gonna talk for a while. There’s no rush.”

“None at all,” Murphy agrees, petting gently at Clarke’s hair. “Especially not with a view this nice,” He grins at Bellamy as if they’ve won the lottery having this beautiful woman half naked in their laps. And frankly, Bellamy thinks, they certainly have.

“See, I told you she needs this,” Bellamy hums. “She even made sure to put on the pretty things we like to see our pretty girl in,”

“Anything for my boys,” Clarke says earnestly.

“That’s right,” Bellamy says, ghosting his hand across her thigh, making her shiver and curl tighter against Murphy’s chest.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” Bellamy tells her calmly. “We’re going to talk about what John and I are going to do to you, and I need to see your face so I know you’re paying attention.”

Clarke turns her face towards him and nods, but Murphy pinches her at the hip and she yelps.

“Use your words,” He chides her.

“Sorry,” She says. “I’m listening, Daddy.”

“Very good.” He smiles at her approvingly, but his expression quickly turns stern. “You haven’t been taking good care of yourself. John and I are worried about you. And when we tried to talk to you about it, you didn’t listen.”

Clarke bites her lip.

“But that’s alright sweetheart,” Murphy continues. “We forgive you for that. We just want to help.”

“We know sometimes what you need most is just to let go for a while,” Bellamy reminds her. “And we’re going to help you do that.”

“But the thing is baby, you’re very stressed.” Murphy says, splaying his hand across her soft stomach. “So we need to work very hard to make all that tension go away.”

“It’s gonna be a long afternoon, isn’t it?” Clarke asks.

“We’re going to make you work very hard,” Bellamy tells her, all business. “You won’t like all of it, but that’s ok. Because you’re going to be good and do as Daddy and Murphy say, and we’ll help you through all the hard parts.”

“We know your limits,” Murphy adds, responding to the way she tenses against him. “We won’t hurt you baby, you know that. But we are going to push you, hard.”

“As hard as you’ve been pushing yourself,” Bellamy tells her, and his disappointment in her is already making her feel a squirmy sort of embarrassed, and it mixes with the soothing way they’re running their hands across her skin deliciously and becomes an undeniable pool of arousal.

“Tell us your safe words baby,” Murphy orders her. “We’re going to be checking in a lot today.”

“Green if I’m ok, yellow if I need to take a break or I have questions or something isn’t good, red if I want it all to stop and get cuddles.” Her voice is lighter already, smaller. It isn’t often Clarke is the bottom of their triangle, and part of that is because when she falls into subspace, she falls _hard_ and it’s…well it’s a sight to see.

“Very good,” Bellamy praises her generously. “Now I want you to go over to the table, and bring back three things. First, I want a plug to put inside your ass, then I want something that I can use on your nipples, and finally you may choose if you want a blindfold or a gag. You will need to wear them all for at least twenty minutes, so choose carefully.” 

Clarke shivers with anticipation at his order, his tone making it clear there’s no room for negotiation. “Yes Daddy.” She peels herself out of Murphy’s grip and makes her way over to the table, fingers curled near her face while she thinks.

“She’s so good when she wants to be,” Murphy chuckles.

“As if you aren’t just as much a brat when you want to be,” Bellamy chides, giving him a swift kiss. 

Clarke comes back with a mid sized plug, baby blue like her top, always one for the aesthetics, their artsy girl. She also has a long length of fabric to act as a blindfold, and Murphy’s favorite nipple clamps, simple clasps they can tighten with the twist of a screw, connected by a light chain. 

“Good choices,” Murphy tells her with a grin, taking the supplies from her hands. 

“Come settle in between us,” Bellamy tells her, “hands and knees, face me.”

Clarke complies, keeping her head down, eyeing the bulge in Bellamy’s pants hungrily. 

“Good girl,” he tells her, following her gaze. “Murphy is going to take his time getting you ready for your plug, and while he does that you can spend some time making me feel good.”

“Yes Daddy,” Clarke says demurely, leaning forward to trail sloppy kisses down his zipper.

Murphy reaches behind him to the lip on the back of the couch for the bottle of lube stashed for just this occasion, leaving the blindfold and clamps in its place. He eases Clarke’s silky bottoms down near her knees, palming the meat of her ass greedily.

“She’s so perfect like this,” he says to Bellamy, but it’s for Clarke’s benefit. “Quiet and needy and there for the taking.”

Bellamy grins at him as her face flushes red. “Take your time and enjoy her,” he says, “I know I am.” Bellamy’s got one hand loose in her hair and the other near her breast, not pressing hard but enough to keep her balanced between them. Clarke’s licking stripes up and down the length of his cock, one hand holding herself up and the other helping guide her pace against him. 

She squeaks when the cool liquid makes contact with her puckered hole, then takes the tip of Bellamy’s cock into her mouth just as Murphy plunges a first finger inside her.

He’s generous with the lube, working her open cautiously. She’ll hurt plenty today, but not a moment before they want her to. She doesn’t know it, but he’s letting her set the pace, waiting until she sinks low to take as much of Bellamy into her throat as she can before adding a second finger to stretch her with.

Clarke moans around Bellamy’s cock at the change, and the vibration makes the hand in her hair tighten. “God, John, do that again.” Murphy gives him a brief glance, confirming his orders, to which Bellamy nods in affirmation. Murphy forces a third finger inside her with little warning compared to the second, and though she’s been stretched this far before the surprising ache still pulls another heady moan from her throat. She tries to come up for air but Bellamy holds her in place, only a few seconds but enough for her to comprehend that when they said she would hurt, they meant it. 

When he lets her up she takes one large gasp of air before returning her lips against him, back to licking long indulgent strokes.

“Good girl,” Bellamy breathes heavily. “Take it all the way again,”

Clarke whimpers against his thigh, still adjusting to the ache of Murphy’s fingers contorting in her ass.

“None of that,” Murphy chides as Bellamy yanks her hair until she’s swallowing him down again. “Much better,”

“Put the plug in before I let her up,” Bellamy orders. Clarke focuses on keeping her gag reflex in check, but she can only keep so calm when Murphy has gone from the girth of a finger to a good sized plug in what feels like a matter of seconds. Murphy coats the toy in lube and eases it inside of her, giving her ass a pert rap to emphasize its insertion. 

Clarke mewls around Bellamy’s cock; he pushes her back, dragging her to sit up, waiting to let go until Murphy’s hands settle at her waist to keep her steady. 

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Murphy says against her ear. “Tell us your color.”

“Green, Sir.” She says with a self-satisfied grin. 

“Finish her up, John, like we talked about.” Bellamy says casually, reaching for the tv remote. He spares a glance to Clarke, then slides his other hand across her folds, collecting her arousal in his hand.

She moans in surprise, thrusting into his hand, but he pulls away before she can gain any real traction. “Don’t worry baby, I’ll put it to good use.” He chuckles at her frustrated pout, jerking himself slowly with the hand slick with her wetness. 

“God that’s hot,” Murphy sighs.

“Finish her up and you can have a taste,” Bellamy promises, busying himself with finding something suitably filthy for them to watch. 

Murphy took a moment to trace the edge on Clarke’s bralette, fingers feather light across the top of her breasts. “I love you in lace,”

“I know,” Clarke grins proudly. “I picked it just for you.”

“How thoughtful,” Murphy praises her with a quick kiss to her cheek. “But now I need it off of you, and your panties too.”

Clarke strips obediently, folding the small scraps of fabric neatly and handing them to Murphy before standing still in front of him. That particular rule was a quirk of his, subs should be neat and tidy, or at least, chaotic subs like Clarke who they regularly find paint in strange places on her skin ought to be. 

“I’m going to put the clamps on you now, and then the blindfold once I place you,” Murphy informs her generously.

Clarke takes a deep breath as he rolls her hard nipples between her fingers, stretching them out away from the meat of her breast. She whimpers as each clamp closes over her, and out right gasps when Murphy tugs on the chain experimentally.

“What color?” Bellamy asks, his attention still cavalierly divided. 

“Still green, Daddy.” Clarke responds.

“Get her settled then,” Bellamy tells Murphy. “I found what I want to watch while you choke on my cock.”

Murphy bites his lip, eager to please, and takes the blindfold in one hand and Clarke’s chain in the other and walks her towards the mat on the floor. Clarke whines at the pressure of being led by the chain attached to her breasts; she was used to Bellamy relishing in her pain, but for it to come from John as well only further solidifies that they mean to push her to the brink today. 

“On your knees,” Murphy tells her, releasing the chain. Clarke settles herself as she’s expected to, resting low on her heels, legs spread wide and hands on her thighs. “Very good,” Murphy praises her. “You’re taking all of this so well,” 

“Thank you Sir,” Clarke says, voice small and floaty.

Murphy ties her blindfold well, and even though she knows exactly where she is and where they are it still unnerves her to be fully encased in the darkness.

“John is going to leave a bottle of water where you can find it, I want you to drink all of it by the time our video is over. It’s about fifteen minutes long, enough for him to swallow my cum if he’s a good boy.” Bellamy orders. Clarke isn’t sure if it’s her mind playing tricks on her or if he’s suddenly much closer behind her than he was a moment ago. She feels Murphy place a cold water bottle against her thigh.

“If you need something, use your safe words, but otherwise you just sit here, drink your water, and be a good girl and take your pain for us.” John tells her, leaving her with one last tug on the chain. She doesn’t see his hand moving towards her this time, and the unexpected pull makes her yelp. 

“Yes Sir, I’ll be good.” She says quickly. 

“We know you will,” Bellamy says, and Clarke still can’t fully tell if he’s further away or right beside her. 

Murphy returns to his place on the couch, suppressing a snicker as Bellamy lurks quietly behind Clarke. Bellamy flashes a grin at him and Murphy hits play on the porn that’s queued up on the screen. 

“Ugh, great choice-“ Murphy says, acknowledging the beginnings of a toy shop gang bang starring a very pretty blonde with ample breasts. 

“She’s almost as pretty as you are sweetheart,” Bellamy says. “Too bad you don’t get to see.” 

Clarke’s too smart to fall for his tricks this early on, and rather than responding and earning herself reproach for speaking out of turn, she makes a show of downing a third of her water bottle.

“Will you come over here and let me suck you off now?” Murphy asks, hard and impatient.

“You drink your water first,” Bellamy tells him dismissively, circling around Clarke.

“But-“

“Do as your told John, or you’ll be right beside her instead of getting to help me.”

Murphy gulps and hastily reaches for another water bottle. “Yes Sir.”

“Good,” Bellamy says, and neither can tell who the praise is intended for. “Finish it quickly and I’ll let you have your treat,”

Murphy chugs the cold water, desperate to get a chance at sucking Bellamy’s cock before the video finishes. Clarke drinks quickly as well, draining her bottle, trying to one up him no doubt. 

Bellamy places a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Very impressive baby, since you did that so fast I think you should have another.” 

Clarke’s face falls, recognition of what sort of scene he’s easing her into seeping into her features.

“No thank you, Daddy,” she says sweet as honey.

“Oh no baby, that wasn’t a question, it was an order.” He runs the cool bottle down her spine, a brief punishment for her insubordination. 

Clarke shivers, which makes the chain clamped to her breast tug, and suddenly everything catches up to her and she whimpers pitifully. 

“What color?” John asks from his place on the couch, draining the last of his water.

She takes a moment to collect herself. “Green.”

“Good,” Bellamy says, pressing the cold bottle against her warm cunt. “Then drink up,” 

Clarke takes the bottle quickly, eager to remove the offending cold from her sensitive folds.

“Please, Sir?” Murphy asks, showing off his empty bottle.

Bellamy smiles at him. “I did promise.” 

Bellamy settles back into his spot on the couch, hard and ready between his two favorite people serving him so dutifully and the downright sinful display of ruined mascara and more cocks than orifices on the screen. Murphy takes him in his mouth eagerly, swallowing him down like it was his job. 

“God John,” Bellamy twitches. “I’m gonna cum right now if you keep that up.” Clarke moans, frustrated that she can’t watch. “You know how pretty he is like this Clarke, drooling all over my cock like he can’t get enough.” 

“I wanna watch,” she pouts.

“You had a choice,” Bellamy reminds her, breath quickening.

“But I didn’t know I would miss the _fun_ ,” she says.

“Finish that bottle and maybe I’ll let your whining pass,” Bellamy says. “Or maybe I’ll have to punish you for being a brat.”

Clarke bites her lip, weighing her options before downing the remainder of her second bottle.

“That’s what I thought,” Bellamy sighs. “ _Fu_ _ck_ , John.” 

He taps Murphy’s back, nudging him up. Murphy looks at him disappointedly until he realizes what Bellamy’s going to do. Murphy turns the volume of the television high to mask their footsteps; which means Clarke has no warning when Bellamy starts to cum in long streams across her chest.

Clarke gasps in surprise and tries to turn away, but Murphy holds her still from behind, balanced on one knee, and a harsh grip on her biceps.

“You better not waste that, I worked hard on it,” he smirks into her hair.

“Fifteen minutes are up Clarke,” Bellamy says, catching his breath. “Which means I need you to make another choice; either have more water and I will remove the clamps, or I can add weight to them.”

Clarke moans in frustration; her nipples are aching almost to the point of too much pain, but she also can already feel the need to relieve herself building and if Bellamy’s obsession with her hydration is any indication, he won’t simply grant her that permission. 

“You have one minute to choose, or we can just do both,” Murphy says, grip still steady on her arms.

“I-“ 

“Speak up, sweetheart.” Bellamy says, his harsh tone mixing with the endearment in a way that proves he means business. Murphy grazes his hands across her breasts experimentally, and Clarke hisses at the contact.

“Take the clamps off Daddy, I’ll drink more water.”

Bellamy nods at Murphy who reaches down tug ever so lightly on the chain again. 

“Please!” Clarke screams. 

“Mind your manners baby,” Bellamy reminds her. 

Murphy pulls her close, her back braced against his chest. “Deep breath for me,” He waits for Clarke to exhale before opening both the mouths of the clamps.

Clarke’s chest heaves as the blood rushes back to her nipples, tears smarting at her eyes behind the blindfold. 

“Easy,” Bellamy cups her cheek in his hand, still standing in front of her. “Just breathe through it sweetheart, you’re okay.”

“You’re doing so well,” Murphy says warmly, running his hand soothingly down her bicep. “Just taking whatever we give you.”

Bellamy strokes his thumb across her cheek, giving her time to relax against Murphy for a moment before he asks.

“What color?”

“Green Daddy,” Clarke says meekly. 

“That’s my girl,” He praises her enthusiastically. “Get her more water, and you have another too.”

Murphy places a tender kiss on her shoulder blade before moving to reach into the cooler for more water.

“Here, stand up a minute,” Bellamy takes her hands and pulls her up gingerly, making sure to keep her steady. The line between good and bad pain would blur more easily with her so pliantly in sub space, something like a muscle cramp wouldn’t get noticed until she was crying from the wrong sort of pain, and so Bellamy would make sure she could stretch. 

“Thank you Daddy,” Clarke mumbles. 

“This isn’t one of your choices, I just need you to be honest, are you doing alright kneeling this way?” He asks her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“It hurts some, but the good kind. Like leg day at the gym.” Clarke tells him with a goofy smile.

“You know it’s too early for her to give up,” Murphy laughs, placing another cold bottle in her hand.

“I want it gone in two minutes, Clarke.” Bellamy informs her.

“Daddy!” 

“Do as I say or I’ll make you have another,” he warns her, the brief reprieve from her torment clearly over. “Drink it, fast as you can.” 

Clarke steels herself for a second before tipping the bottle towards her mouth. Bellamy gives Murphy a look that clearly demands “you too,” which Murphy replies to with a cheeky mock salute that would have earned him a hard smack on the ass had he not immediately proceeded to down the entire bottle in record time.

Clarke though, was a minute in and still had more water than not.

“If I have to pour it down your throat I will,” Bellamy tells her darkly. 

“I need to pee Daddy,” Clarke says, face burning with shame.

“Finish. Your. Water.” Bellamy says, ignoring her pleas entirely.

Clarke’s pelvis starts to quiver with need, but she doesn’t want to be a bad girl, so she forces herself to take several more large gulps before gasping out for air again. 

“That’s better,” Bellamy tells her. “Finish up, now.”

Murphy watches the exchange and his response goes straight to his cock. Watching Bellamy force her to do something so simple, so harmless but in such a way as to make it its own form of torture was, in a word, hot. He was glad to be allowed to assist, it was a nice change of pace from being the one subjected to torment.

Clarke finally finishes her third bottle, not quite within two minutes but with enough effort at obedience Bellamy allows it to go unchallenged. 

“I need you to make more choices for me now,” he tells her. “We’ll start simply, you may either take the blindfold off and spend another fifteen minutes on your knees, or you may stay in the dark and sit comfortably on the mat.”

“I’ll kneel, Daddy.” She says eagerly. 

“Close your eyes,” Murphy tells her before reaching for the blindfold. Clarke obeys easily, the transition back to full sight is always easier from having her eyes closed and then open first.

“Tie her wrists please John,” Bellamy orders. Murphy takes the fabric that comprised her blind fold and winds it around her wrists which Clarke had pulled behind her back at the command by instinct.

“I need you to listen carefully now,” Bellamy crowds her, his gaze so intent it makes her squirm. Clarke nods obediently, momentarily lost for words. 

“I want you to hurt some more,” he tells her, the warmth in his voice softening the blow of his grueling expectations. “You like when it hurts, don’t you baby?”

“Y-yes Daddy,” she stammers.

“I know, so you tell me what you want now, do you want more pain on your tits, or should we make your clit hurt instead.”

“I don’t know Daddy,” Clarke mumbles. 

“Come on Clarke, tell us what you need,” Murphy says, hands roaming aggressively over her bare skin, making sure to press hard against her sensitive nipples. 

“Like John said before, choose or we can do both.”

Bellamy gives her another minute to contemplate before taking her roughly by the chin. “Answer me right now or it _will_ be both.”

“My clit Daddy,” Clarke gasps out.

“Are you sure?” He gives her one chance to change her mind.

“Yes Daddy.” 

“Ask for it nicely then,” Murphy drawls, hands still pawing at her roughly. 

“Please, Sir, will you and Daddy hurt me?” Clarke practically whispers, shame choking her.

“Of course we will baby,” Bellamy promises her, “say where though.”

Clarke gulps, face burning. “Please hurt my clit Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Bellamy says, moving his hand from her cheek to rest on the hollow of her throat, smeared with his drying cum. Murphy turns toward the table, and Bellamy forces Clarke back down on her knees. 

“Two of them,” Bellamy tells Murphy, who obliges with a nod. Bellamy pats her face once, not quite a slap but certainly not a gentle caress, and steps back so that Murphy can crouch in front of her. He makes a show of flourishing a clothespin in her line of sight, nudging her knees wider apart, savoring how much she shivers when he spreads her folds. 

Clarke keens when Murphy pulls sharply on her clit, trapping it in the clothespin.

“Open your mouth,” Bellamy orders.

Clarke obeys instantly, the pain radiating from her clit subduing any shred of brattiness left. 

“We warned you we weren’t going easy,” Murphy tells her unapologetically. “Now stick out your tongue like a good slut and don’t make me yank it out of your mouth.”

Clarke whimpers at his harsh tone, her lip quivering.

“Color?” Bellamy demands.

Clarke squirms, fighting to keep her legs spread, abs straining from staying balanced on her knees.

“Easy, easy,” Murphy soothes her. “We know you can take it, sweetheart, just relax.” 

Clarke inhales deeply, blinking rapidly until she adjusts to the pain. “Green, Daddy.”

“You’re so good Clarke, such a good girl to hurt for us like this. We need you to take it for ten minutes, baby, can you do that for us?” Bellamy asks her. 

Clarke swallows hard, reluctance on her face. “Yes Daddy.”

“Ask me to do it,” Murphy prompts. Clarke swallows again, shame spilling out into slow, salty tears.

“Please put the clothespin on my tongue,” she says, voice quivering.

“So good, sweetheart, you’re so good for us.” Murphy wipes the tears from her eyes with the pad of his thumb, trailing down her cheek to pull her jaw down wider. Clarke stretches her tongue out without hesitation this time, and Murphy clips the clothespin to the muscle quickly.

“Give me a color, baby,” Bellamy commands. She can speak, even incapacitated as she is, and he’ll prove as much by forcing her to.

“Geen” she says, unable to form the full word, humiliation radiating out of her as drool begins to slide down her face. 

“Just let go,” Murphy encourages her. “Just let it all go quiet, be a good girl for us. You’re so good for us like this, just keep being our good girl.”

Clarke nods obediently, and Murphy takes that as her being comfortable enough in her discomfort that he can stand up. “Ten minutes baby, I’m even setting a timer.” Bellamy promises, clicking through his phone. 

“This is easily the hottest thing we’ve ever done,” Murphy gloats. 

“Hotter than the time we made you wear pink lingerie and strip for us?” Bellamy smirks as Murphy’s face glows red. “That’s what I thought.”

“Like I wasn’t already hard as a rock,” Murphy groans. “Can I take a break and piss?”

“Not yet,” Bellamy tells him dismissively, which makes Murphy moan in frustration.

“But you’ve been good, helping me break our little girl,” Bellamy tells him, both their eyes darting to Clarke to see her reaction. “I think you deserve a treat.” Clarke whimpers, rocking back and forth, trying to ease the pain and arousal tormenting her in equal measure. 

“Stand still,” Bellamy orders, dragging Murphy’s pants down below his knees. 

“Oh fuck,” Murphy groans as Bellamy sinks to his knees in front of him. 

“Just keep being my good boy, stay still, keep an eye on Clarke for me while I make you feel good.” 

“Yes Sir,” Murphy gasps, moaning in pleasure as Bellamy starts licking at his shaft. Clarke breath quickens at the divine sight in front of her, and Murphy beams at her response.

“How fucking lucky am I?” Murphy says filthily. “My beautiful girlfriend on her knees, covered in cum and crying from being teased so hard, like my own personal porno.”

Bellamy fondles Murphy’s balls and it makes him sputter and buck against Bellamy’s throat. “And then I have a goddamn Grecian God swallowing my dick just because I was a good boy. _Fucking hell_ this is the best day of my life.” 

Bellamy can’t help but laugh, and the vibration sets Murphy off into another frenzy. “ _God_ please, please Bellamy let me cum.” Bellamy pulls away from him and John’s so disappointed he could cry. 

“Keep yourself there,” Bellamy orders. “Use your hand and keep stroking yourself close, but don’t cum, not yet.” 

“I thought Clarke was the one being tortured,” Murphy snarks. 

“Come again?” Bellamy asks him, tone clearly indicating Murphy has one chance to amend his commentary. 

“As you wish, Sir.” Murphy says through gritted teeth, giving himself a deliberately hard jerk to demonstrate his contrition.

“Damn right,” Bellamy says. “Now put that filthy mouth to good use and tell me more about how hot you find all this.” 

Bellamy steps back away from them as Murphy starts spewing half-coherent nonsense, nonchalantly pulling the camera up on his phone. 

“And while we’re on the topic of fucking hot as shit? Clarke Griffin is literally the most powerful woman I know, and she’s on her goddamn knees, drooling like a slut and practically fucking the ground because we told her to, because we thought it would be hot to see how far we could push her, and God she can take so much. Look at her, Bellamy, Jesus-“

Clarke keens, a sinful noise escaping from her mouth, and she’s aching and desperate and God her clit fucking _hurts_ and Murphy is waxing poetic in words so obscene they should be illegal and Bellamy is recording all of this on his phone and she can’t take it anymore, can’t bear to see herself so far gone but she’s so wet and she needs something, anything to grind her cunt against.

The alarm on Bellamy’s phone goes off and Clarke practically screams in desperation. Bellamy walks closer to them, tightening the angle of the camera on Clarke.

“Look at me sweetheart,” Bellamy orders. Clarke complies instantly, her desperation impossible to hide, drool running freely down her chin and frustrated tears glistening in her eyes. “What a pretty picture you make like this. Hold still,” 

She does her best to calm herself as Bellamy mercifully takes the clothespin from her tongue. Clarke cries out as the blood starts to circulate again, closing her jaw to relax it.

“Shit Bellamy,” Murphy groans, still rubbing frantically at his cock. 

“Wait, John, once Clarke makes her choice then I’ll know how to instruct you.”

“My clit hurts so much, Daddy please!” Clarke whines.

“I know it does baby,” Bellamy reminds her. “Now you may choose, I can take it off now, or make you wait another five minutes.” 

“Now Daddy, please!”

“Don’t you want to know what it will cost you first?”

“No, no Daddy I’ll be a good girl please, please just take it off it hurts so much Daddy please-“

Bellamy takes her word for it, and hands his phone to John before he crouches down and places his hand over the clothespin. “This will hurt even more, get ready.” 

Clarke nods obediently, but her relative calm is quickly shattered when Bellamy removes the pin, a genuine shriek escaping that quickly dissolves her into more tears.

“Breathe, baby.” Bellamy says soothingly, but rather than draw close to comfort her stands back up to take the camera back from Murphy. 

“Ask John for his piss now,” Bellamy says firmly. Both Murphy and Clarke’s eyes go wide. 

“No, Daddy-“

“Make sure to say please,” Bellamy continues, ignoring her distress.

“Yellow-“ Clarke says with a hiccup. 

“Are you in more pain than you can handle?” Bellamy asks, his face concerned but his voice still authoritative. 

“No Daddy,”

“Are you afraid or overwhelmed?”

“No, Daddy.”

“Is this a limit for you?” 

Clarke thinks for a long moment. “No, Daddy.”

“John what did I say the name of our game was?”

“Break Clarke, Sir.” Murphy says immediately.

“In her hair, and on her tits will do.” Bellamy orders, keeping a careful eye on Clarke as he delivers his verdict. Her eyes close tight, humiliation radiating through her, tinting her pale skin a tantalizing pink. 

“Sir-“

“Now John, or I’ll make you hold it another hour.” Murphy whimpers at the threat, but Bellamy has no interest in tormenting him further.

“Ask for it,” he demands of Clarke. 

The longer she waits the worse she feels, and she’s been disobedient and bratty and Murphy won’t allow it and Bellamy is hell bent on breaking her, and the only way to make it any easier is simple obedience. She wants to obey. It’s all so easy once she stops thinking and just does as she’s told. Her mouth fumbles a few false starts but eventually she manages to whisper “please piss in my hair John.”

Murphy releases a steady stream, coating the top of her head, trailing his way down her neck and making criss-crossed lines over her breasts. Clarke accepts her fate calmly, shrinking into herself as though if she becomes small enough she won’t remember how ashamed, and how incredibly turned on, she is by this. 

“Good,” Bellamy says, barely acknowledging her. “Feel better now, John?”

“Yes Sir,” Murphy says, voice hoarse.

“I bet our little girl wants to feel better too.” Bellamy says. 

“Please Daddy,” Clarke says pitifully.

“Bring her the bucket John,” Bellamy says. If Clarke could sink into the floor, she would. Murphy places the bucket in front of her. Clarke shakes her head, eyes darting between Murphy, Bellamy, and the camera still trained on her.

“In the bucket or not at all Clarke,” Bellamy tells her. “I don’t care which.”

“You know he’ll make you piss yourself,” Murphy taunts her. “Giving you the bucket is us being nice.”

“Daddy…” Clarke whimpers again, eyes trained on his phone.

“No one will see it but us sweetheart,” he assures her. “But I want to remember today, remember how much we made it hurt, how filthy our little girl is deep down inside.”

“I can’t,” Clarke grovels. “Please don’t make me, please- 

“If you’re not crouched over that bucket in the next ten seconds we’ll make you lick it up when you piss yourself,” Murphy says sharply. Clarke glances between the two of them again, hoping for mercy. 

“One, two, three,” Bellamy counts out, staring her down. Clarke lifts herself from the mat, lip quivering. 

“Smart girl,” Murphy says. 

“Look at me,” Bellamy says firmly. Clarke feels her face flush with fresh shame, knowing full well what he expects of her.

“Well?” 

“Please may I piss in the bucket Daddy?” Clarke’s gaze drifts towards the floor.

“Eyes up,” Bellamy snaps. “You’re going to look right at us while we watch you.”

Murphy makes a strangled, needy noise beside him as Clarke’s face contorts in humiliation. The sound of her urine hitting the bottom of the bucket fills the room, and Bellamy holds his breath, hoping his phone is powerful enough to capture the noise, knowing he can play it over for Clarke later and instantly call up the utter debasement she’s feeling. 

They were winning the game.

“What an obedient little girl we have, John. So well behaved we can make her do even filthy, shameful things like piss in a bucket.” Bellamy lays his commentary on thick, ending the recording and pocketing his phone. 

“What color baby?” Murphy asks.

Clarke thinks for a moment, lost in a haze of embarrassment and arousal. “Yellow,”

“What’s wrong?”

“Need a break,” she says, unable to form a fully coherent sentence. “Need not make choices for a while.” 

“Good girl,” Murphy tells her, circling around to untie her wrists. Bellamy reaches into the cooler and hands her a smaller bottle, Gatorade this time, in her favor icy blue flavor.

“Drink this, sweetheart. Only a little, enough so you don’t get a headache.” 

Clarke takes the bottle gratefully, drawing her knees to her chest and sipping on it slowly.

“Do you want the plug to come out?” Murphy asks her softly.

Clarke nods in agreement. “Yes please.”

“Hands and knees, baby,” Bellamy orders, kneeling behind her. Clarke obeys dutifully, 

“Just relax now,” Murphy encourages her. “Relax, we’ll take care of you.” 

Bellamy eases the toy out of her, murmuring gentle praise. “Lie down,” he tells her, “just rest for a few minutes.” Clarke curls into a ball on the mat, still sticky with their fluids. Murphy knows better than to offer her a warm towel to wash with, this reprieve is from the physical pain. Both he and Bellamy are well aware the way to break Clarke the way she needs is in the mental game; in being forced to submit to them, sunk low in her own debasement. He lays a protective hand on her hip while Bellamy studies their toy collection, knowing first hand how even simple contact can keep her anchored in the scene as opposed to floating in a frightening mass of endorphins and negative emotions.

“When you’re ready, I want you to put this in your cunt.” Bellamy says, placing a large two pronged vibrator beside her. Murphy recognizes it as part of the set Clarke had gotten Bellamy for his birthday; though it was a present for all of them really, a full kit of toys that he could control with a small remote in his hand.

Bellamy hands Murphy his phone, and John knows from his glance what he wants to happen. Murphy syncs the mirroring up to their television, and waits for Clarke to get ready.

She takes another minute before pulling herself upright, a small smile crossing her face when she sees the vibrator.

“Do you need lube?” Murphy asks.

“She’s dripping, John,” Bellamy answers for her. “Our little girl gets so wet when we humiliate her, don’t you?”

Clarke bites her lip in reply, hastily pushing the vibrator deep inside her, settling the outer portion against her clit.

“Speak up,” Bellamy tells her, casually flipping the toy on to a low, even pace. 

“It makes me wet when you humiliate me Daddy,” she says, mortification creeping back into her expression.

“We know,” Murphy smirks. 

“I want you to pay close attention to this video, Clarke. Watch and see what a filthy little slut you are.” Bellamy grins at her shocked expression. “Hands and knees,” he adds, “keep that toy tight inside you.” Clarke makes a pathetic noise, distressed at the predicament, She knows she will probably drop it, and be punished for it, long before Bellamy grows bored of teasing her with the vibrations. She also knows there’s no hope of protesting, and so she positions herself accordingly, eyes on the screen.

“Go ahead and hit play, John, and then stand behind her. You have until the end of it to cum on her back, otherwise you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Yes Sir, thank you,” Murphy says eagerly. 

The video starts, Clarke’s eyes trained on the screen, watching herself struggle and drool beneath Murphy. She tries to look away but Bellamy clears his throat sharply, her only warning that this viewing is not optional.

“Jesus fuck,” Murphy gasps begins her. “Look at you baby, look how desperate you were.”

“Shhh, I want her to hear herself beg.” Bellamy emphasizes his point by turning up the strength of the vibrator just as Clarke’s voice drifts through the speaker.

_Please piss in my hair John._

Both Murphy and Clarke moan at that, he in pleasure and her in shame. Bellamy drinks in the sight of them, relishing in their obedience. He shuffles through the settings on the vibrator quickly, making it difficult for Clarke to keep it clenched in her walls.

“God Clarke, look at your face when we hand you the bucket,” Murphy gloats, relishing the way she nearly curls up on herself she’s so embarrassed. 

“My favorite is how she looks right into the camera while her piss splashes into it,” Bellamy adds. “How she knows what she’s doing now is filthy, and degrading, but whether she admits it or not it makes her wet that we watched her piss herself.” It isn’t often he speaks so crudely, and the sound of Clarke’s strangled shameful cry on top of it sends Murphy over the edge, spurting onto her back.

Clarke trembles with the effort of holding the toy in place, but the sensation of another new fluid drowning her further into filth is dangerously close to ruining her, so when Bellamy switches the vibrator to its highest setting she can’t help when it falls from her pussy with a damning thud.

“And here I thought you would at least try to prove you were more than just a filthy slut,” Bellamy sighs, and his disappointment falls like lead in the pit of her stomach. “Now instead of letting you cum, I’m going to have to punish you.”

“I’m sorry Daddy, I didn’t mean to,” Clarke grovels.

“I know you didn’t baby,” he says. “But you still failed us, and that means we have to punish you.” Bellamy grabs at her shoulder, pulling her upright onto her knees again.

“What are we gonna do to her, Sir?” Murphy asks curiously. Bellamy leans close in to his ear and whispers the plan, Murphy’s eyes go wide with a moan as Bellamy informs him of what’s left to come.

“Open your mouth Clarke,” Bellamy commands. Clarke complies quickly, submission instinctual at this point. Bellamy towers over her, places his half hard cock to rest on her tongue. 

“Set the timer,” He orders Murphy, and waits until it’s done to continue. “Clarke I am going to give you one more choice, and you have exactly forty five seconds to decide, or I swear we will force you to do both. Do you understand me?”

Clarke nods clumsily, head bobbing around Bellamy’s cock.

“For your punishment, you may either drink my piss or bathe in your own. Which would you like?” 

Clarke’s eyes widen in horror as Murphy starts the timer. It’s too much to ask of her, too much to be forced to endure, but Murphy and Bellamy expect her to be a good girl and take her punishment. They also expect this ultimatum to shatter her, and it succeeds, out and out sobs wracking her body.

“Fifteen seconds Clarke, you better answer him baby, or you won’t like what happens even more.” Clarke shakes her head, pleading with them to reconsider.

“Ten, nine, eight,”

“Choose, now.” Bellamy says darkly.

“Four, three, two-“

“The bath Sir!” Clarke sobs, crossing her arms against her stomach as if to protect herself from fracturing in two.

“I don’t know Bellamy, she cut it pretty close.” Murphy says, grinning as Clarke moans in fear.

“I think we can find a compromise,” Bellamy says. “Hand her the bucket,”

Murphy takes the bucket by its handle and places it in front of her. 

“Pick it up,” Bellamy barks at her. Clarke reaches around the base of it with shaking hands, balancing it against her stomach.

“What color, Clarke?” Murphy asks calmly.

“Yellow,” She whispers. 

“Explain,” Bellamy demands.

“Please don’t make me drink it Daddy, please. I made a choice in the time I know need be punished but please don’t change rules now and make me drink it’s not fair it’s too much—” 

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Bellamy says softly. “I won’t make you drink it, I promise.” He waits for Clarke to nod in understanding, giving her a moment’s reprieve. 

“What color now?” Murphy asks, crouching down to stroke her face gently, wiping the new tears away. She leans into his touch for a moment before answering, indulging in the comfort.

“Green, Sir,” She says quietly.

“You’ve been so good baby,” Murphy assures her. “I’m so proud of you for taking so much.”

“Our strong, beautiful little girl,” Bellamy agrees, “I know you can take a little more for us though. Just a little more is all it’s going to take to break you entirely, isn’t it?” 

“Yes Daddy,” Clarke warbles. 

“So good,” Murphy says once more for good measure, moving away from her again. 

“John was right,” Bellamy tells her, all traces of sympathy gone. “You almost waited too long to choose, and so a simple bath in your own cold piss isn’t going to be enough.”

Clarke’s lip quivers, trying to predict what he’s about to command her to say.

“Ask for me to fill the bucket,” Bellamy says. 

“And make it filthy,” Murphy adds. “Just like you are,”

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut tight, trying to keep herself in control long enough to obey. 

“Ask for it nicely,” Bellamy insists. “I know you can do it.”

“Pl-Please piss in my bucket Daddy. Please warm my cold piss bath up before you pour it on me.”

“Damn, Clarke,” Murphy gasps. 

“Since you asked so nicely, baby,” Bellamy says, stepping in front of her. He releases a heavy stream into the bucket in Clarke’s arms, waiting until he’s nearly finished to switch his aim to her hair and face. The change startles her into fresh tears, mixing with the acrid liquid, salt stinging her face. 

“Go and open the bathroom door for her,” Bellamy instructs Murphy. “She can carry the piss there on her own.” 

Murphy strides quickly through their bedroom and into the en suite attached. Like their toy collection, this bathroom was nothing short of grossly indulgent, dark tiles and soft lighting, a jacuzzi tub large enough all three of them could enjoy together if they wanted to, and a separate shower on the opposite wall. Murphy pushes open the shower door, stepping back as Bellamy herds Clarke trembling form, so shaky John swears he can hear the urine sloshing in the bucket, through the door.

“Give John your piss bucket and kneel in the shower,” Bellamy says. Clarke’s slow to process, and Murphy takes pity on her and clasps the bucket by the handle, pulling it ever so gently from where Clarke has it cradled in her arms.

“Kneel down now,” Bellamy repeats, recognizing how far gone she is. He waits until she’s shivering on the cool tile of the shower to prompt her. “You know you have to ask for it,”

“But I don’t want it,” she says pitifully, making no effort to hide her tears now.

“We know you don’t want it,” Murphy tells her sympathetically. 

“But we promised to break you, baby,” Bellamy reminds her. “You may not want this, but you do need it.” He tells her matter of factly. “Ask for your piss bath like a good little slut and then it will all be over.” 

“Please, Daddy-“ Clarke cries, rocking herself softly back and forth on the tile. 

“Please what?” Bellamy says impatiently.

“Pl-please pour the piss bucket on me Daddy.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m a slut who deserves to bathe in piss,” Clarke says quickly, choking back more tears.

“Yes you are,” Murphy says, and his quick agreement makes her insides roil in shame. “Now tell us why we are doing this to you.”

“So you can break me Sir.”

“We’ve already done that,” Bellamy tells her. “You’re naked and covered in piss and cum and begging for more of it.” Her tears flow freely, which Bellamy takes as permission to make one final push.

“Ask for it again, and then sit there until I allow you to move.”

“Yes Daddy,” Clarke garbles out, voice impossibly small. “Please let me bathe in our piss.” Murphy hands Bellamy the bucket, which he brings close to Clarke’s scalp before tilting it to spill into her hair, their urine trailing down her neck and back. 

Clarke loses her last shred of composure, weeping openly as she shivers on the cold floor of the shower. Bellamy steps back, letting her emotions rule fully for a brief moment.

“Start a bath,” Bellamy says to Murphy softly, snagging his hand and lifting it towards his lips for a quick kiss on the inside of his wrist. “Warm, and with the lavender salts.” Murphy nods, smiling at the intimate gesture. “Take care of our girl.”

Bellamy kneels in front of Clarke, framing her face with his hands gently. “That’s it sweetheart, just let go. It’s okay to cry. All the hard part is done now. Only soft things now, I promise baby.”

“Daddy?” Clarke asks between breathy sobs.

“I’m right here,” he promises. “What do you need baby?”

“ ‘M cold,” she whimpers.

“Alright, baby. I’m going to turn the water on, it will help you get warm. Does that sound good?”

Clarke nods, the reminder of her state spurring fresh tears. 

“Shh,” Bellamy soothes her. “It’s okay now, it’s all over. You were so brave for us baby, so good to do everything we asked of you.” 

“Don’t go way,” Clarke pleads suddenly as Bellamy begins to stand up and reach for the nozzle of the shower.

“I’m not going far,” Bellamy assures her. “Just to turn on the water.” He tests the stream in his hand before pulling the nozzle down close to her.

“Close your eyes for me, that’s it, we’ll get you rinsed off and then we can wash your hair in the bath, does that sound good?” Clarke gives him another shaky nod. He’ll let her drift a while longer, blissed out on the adrenaline and endorphins. He guides the stream gently, washes away the grime and her shame with it.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl, let it all go now. It’s all over.” Clarke nuzzles against his outstretched hand, relishing the warmth of the clean water flowing down her skin, her sobs slowed to an occasional shudder.

“Let me take her?” Murphy asks reverently, reaching his hand down to help Clarke stand. Bellamy replaces the showerhead quickly, then moves to help steady Clarke as Murphy pulls her up. 

Clarke clasps his hand tight, unsteady on her feet. Bellamy keeps one hand pressed on the small of her back, the other reaches out to graze John’s jawbone with his thumb. 

“Are you ok if I go clean up the living room?” Murphy has been more dominant today, but that was unusual for him, and the game had been intense for them all, so Bellamy wants to be sure. 

“I’m good,” Murphy says, turning his cheek to place a kiss on Bellamy’s palm. “You go do chores, I’ll spoil her rotten, scouts honor.”

Clarke giggles shyly at his promise. Bellamy lays a soft kiss on her cheek. “I’ll be back soon,” 

“Promise?” Clarke asks, her voice is unsure but there’s a hint of brattiness easing back into it all the same.

“Scouts honor,” he taps her gently on the nose, making her giggle again with Murphy’s silly phrase. “Be good you two,” 

Clarke shivers at the loss of contact, a reaction both physical and emotional, however involuntary. She gets clingy as she comes out of subspace, and both her boys know better than to leave her all alone.

“It’s nice and warm baby,” Murphy says, taking her other hand before she can start to feel adrift, “Here,” Clarke eases into the tub, sighing in relief. Murphy shuts the faucet, satisfied with the water temperature and how comfortably Clarke can sink down into the warm water. 

“You want me to wash your hair sweetheart?” Murphy asks.

“Come in with me though,” She says with a pout. “Want cuddles too.”

“Course baby,” Murphy says sweetly, folding his pants neatly and leaving them on the counter before following Clarke into the tub. He rests his back against the side and Clarke wriggles her way between his legs, resting against his chest. Murphy reaches to the side and grabs a washcloth, pouring an indulgent amount of smooth soap into it. He runs it gently across her soft skin, from her shoulders to the tips of her fingers, across her neck, dipping below the water line to scrub at her breasts. He moves slowly, careful not to irritate any lingering tenderness. 

“Feels good,” She mumbles. 

“Good,” John says, placing a soft kiss on her shoulder. “Lean up just a bit so I can get your back,” 

“You’re so good to me,” Clarke giggles, leaning forward to keep her arms in the warm water.

“You were absolutely amazing Clarke,” he says sincerely. “Watching you come apart like that, that you trust us so much, it’s...God how’d we get so lucky?” Clarke blushes under his praise. 

“It was a lot,” she says. “But I needed it.”

“You’re so good for us baby,” he repeats. “Here, lean back and I’ll put the shampoo in.” Clarke purrs as Murphy massages her scalp, keeping her eyes closed blissfully as he runs fresh water for her to rinse with. 

He settles her against the wall of the tub, then runs conditioner down the ends of her hair, letting it sit like the directions say. “How are you, sweetheart?” He asks.

“Sleepy,” she says with a cheeky grin. “And floaty, but good kind.”

“Just lie back and keep letting me spoil you then,” Murphy grins. 

“Okay,” Clarke agrees, head lolling back. Murphy picks up the washcloth and taps her knee gently. Clarke lets herself fall limp, letting Murphy lift each of her legs in turn to run the damp cloth over her. He scoots closer, positioning himself between her legs and reaching for a fresh cloth.

“Tell me if anything hurts baby,” he murmurs before reaching between her folds, ghosting across her still somewhat swollen clit.

Clarke sucks in a breath of air that makes Murphy’s eyes dart to meet hers. 

“Feels good,” she says quickly. 

“Do you want to keep feeling good sweetheart, or just rest?” Murphy asks her. Clarke bites her lip, thrown by the question. 

“There’s no wrong answer Clarke. If you want to come I’ll gladly get you off.”

She smiles eagerly at that. “Want to feel good, please.”

“Lie back,” he tells her, moving close and tucking one arm behind her, sucking at the hollow of her neck as his other hand dips under the water to rub steady circles on her clit. It doesn’t take long, after hours of teasing, before Clarke reaches her peak.

“That’s it sweetheart, come for me,” he rolls her clit between his fingers, and the pressure on top of the ache from the clothespin earlier sends her over the edge.

Clarke hums in satisfaction, tilting her head up to kiss Murphy’s jawbone. “Felt so good, thank you.”

Murphy smiles at her affectionately. “You deserved it.” Clarke takes his hand under the water, lacing her fingers through his. 

“Doing good?” Murphy asks. He’s no stranger to the emotional up and down that comes after an intense game, knows sometimes a drop can catch her off guard even hours later. He wouldn’t let it happen, and neither would Bellamy, but part of preventing that means checking in often.

“Less floaty now. Still sleepy,” she gives his hand a squeeze, a silent gratitude for his attentiveness. 

“Let’s rinse your hair before you start shivering again,” he says, nudging her over to the faucet so he can remove the last traces of conditioner. 

Bellamy comes back in just as they’re finishing up, lurking by the door for just a minute to watch his beloveds together. They would tease him often for his romantic nature, waxing lines that belonged in the epic poems he loved so well, but never dared say for fear of being teased for his sappiness. 

“Daddy!” Clarke says brightly when she notices him by the door, giddy with endorphins. 

“Hi baby,” he kisses the top of her head, reaching across her to rest his hand against Murphy’s shoulder. “How are we doing?” He addresses them both.

“Already great, even better now you’re back,” Murphy says.

“Oh but I’m the sap?” Bellamy laughs. “Come on out of there before you both turn into raisins.”

“I bet we’d be yummy raisins,” Clarke giggles.

“Someone’s feeling silly,” Murphy sighs affectionately, hoisting himself out of the tub. Bellamy hands him a massive fluffy towel. 

“You too,” Bellamy says, reaching down to help Clarke out. 

“Tag your it,” Murphy says, handing him a towel for Clarke. “I’m going to make us food.”

“God I love you,” Bellamy says, his tone light but the meaning sincere.

“Yeah I know,” Murphy smirks. “Special requests?” 

“Stuff on a plate!” Clarke says. It was a signature dish of Murphy’s, to put together a little bit of everything they had lying around in a delightfully snackable form. 

“Well balanced stuff on a plate,” Bellamy clarifies. “Otherwise the princess will try and eat cardboard covered chocolate for dinner again.” 

Clarke pouts. “I like chocolate though,”

“It’s stuff on a plate, we can do it all.” Murphy promises with a wink on his way out the door.

“Someone got an orgasm while Daddy was doing chores, didn't she?” Bellamy teases. He doesn’t hand her the towel, but takes her shoulders and turns her gently so he can dry her off.

“What gave me away?” Clarke asks sweetly, knowing full well the answer. 

“You’re only ever this silly after we’ve broken your brain in half,” he reminds her. “Face me,” Clarke complies, eyes closed and arms out. She isn’t usually one to pamper herself, but when her boys insist on it, who is she to deny them? 

Bellamy wraps the towel around her firmly and leaves his hand at the nape of her neck, reaching down to open the drain on the tub before they walk back into their room. 

He’d cleaned the living room efficiently, then made sure to lay out pajamas for both of them, and changed into sweatpants and a clean t-shirt, and made sure anything they may want was in easy reach of the bed. He takes the towel from Clarke and hangs it on the back of the door while she pulls on one of his shirts he left out.

She steals both their clothes in equal measure, but Bellamy was broader in the shoulders than Murphy, and that meant his stolen clothing was perfect for sleeping, and John’s old band t-shirts were much more likely to wind up covered in paint. 

“Do you want Tylenol?” Bellamy asks her. 

“I don’t feel like I need it now, but I’ll probably regret it in a few hours if I don’t.” Clarke says, crawling up onto the bed.

“Take it now then,” he insists, handing her two pills and her Gatorade from the bedside table. She swallows the pills with a swig of blue liquid.

“Come be my pillow,” she says sweetly, in a voice that he swears would make him walk willingly through fire. He settles himself on top of their comforter, slinging an arm out so she can rest her cheek over his heart. Clarke settles against him so contentedly he can practically hear her purr.

“Doing okay sweetheart?” Bellamy asks. 

“Was a lot. Good, but a lot.” She says.

“You were incredible,” he kisses her forehead. “You’re so beautiful when you just let us take over for awhile.”

“Mmm,” she snuggles closer to him.

“You’re always beautiful though,” he adds. “Just a little too stubborn for your own good.”

“That’s why I’m lucky I have you,” She says. “You keep me in line, and John makes sure to tattle when I need you.”

“And keeps you fed,” Murphy snarks from the door, tray in hand. “Can’t forget that.” 

“I love you forever for feeding me even when I get cranky and forget to say thank you,” Clarke says sincerely, pushing herself up off of Bellamy.

“We have turkey and cheese rolls, carrots and celery, saltines, and cranberry raisins,” Murphy says with a flourish.

“You spoil us both you know,” Bellamy grins.

“You bet your ass I do,” Murphy laughs. “That’s why there’s brownies in the oven.” 

“I love you both so much,” Clarke says. 

“Us too baby,” Bellamy kisses her temple before reaching for the plate. 

Murphy snakes his arm around her waist, leaving his hand in easy reach for Bellamy to take, keeping her wrapped between the two of them.

“Yeah, us too.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
